


Heartbreaker

by nimmieamee (orphan_account)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 17:04:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10598352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/nimmieamee
Summary: FP trains Joaquin to seduce Kevin.





	

**Author's Note:**

> a quick fill for [this](https://riverdale-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1356.html?thread=38732#cmt38732) kinkmeme prompt, which wanted dub-con. I don't know how well I hit the dub-con, but there's definitely no explicit consent here, so please do not read if that offends you. This is meant only for readers who are fine reading things that are sleazy and morally wrong. If you are not fine with that, definitely don't read. Thanks!

Around August, it became clear that none of their contacts knew where the Blossom kid had run off to. 

So, fine, Blossom had money and could hide well. But it wouldn't be fine for FP and his crew, because when rich kids caused trouble, rich kids weren't the ones questioned about it. South Siders were. 

Now FP, Keller would drag FP in for anything. Stolen purse, hijacked car. If a fucking manhole cover on the North Side looked slightly askew. None of that irritated FP as much as his attitude about it, though.

"You know why looking at you makes me sick?" Keller had said, the last time. "This."

He'd jabbed a finger at FP's file. 

"You have kids. And if I were a piece of crap like you, I wouldn't be able to look my boy in the face, Jones. I really wouldn't."

It struck a nerve. FP had hauled off and tried to hit him. The only reason he hadn't succeeded was because Keller had him handcuffed to the interrogation table. Still, he did two nights in lockup as penance, jittery and furious, thinking the whole time of how Gladys and Jelly had left loudly, lots of shouts and broken glass, and Jug had slipped out with quiet determination, there one second and gone the next. 

_I wouldn't be able to look my boy in the face, Jones._

Well, fuck him. And fuck his boy, too. If Keller wanted to use FP's family to turn the screws, then two could play at that game. Keller's boy was there for the taking: clean-cut, wholesome, Student Council-type. 

If they wanted to know Keller's latest suspicion about the Serpents, they could do a lot worse than to ask him. If they wanted to fuck with Keller, too, that boy would be the way to do it.

So he had some of the Serpents trail the kid, figure out who he was and what he liked. 

"He's a hometown boy who's bored in this town," said Sheila, one of the girls FP had put on it. FP had thought that maybe she'd be the lure: long legs, gorgeous face, mouth on her like a sailor. "I can't work with that."

"Sure you can," FP had said. "What are you if not water in the desert to somebody like that?"

She'd shaken her head. "That Keller boy's a straight-A worrier type. He'll be impossible to please. He'll want good-looking but nothing diva-like, dangerous but not _too_ dangerous. And..."

"And?" FP said.

"He's gay," said Sheila.

Oh. The plan readjusted itself.

"We can work with that," FP said slowly.

Sheila had leaned against the grubby doorpost of his office, jerked her chin back at the main room of the White Wyrm. "The kid?" she said.

"You think he'll suit?" FP said.

"I think he'll be phenomenal," said Sheila.

-

Joaquin had showed up four months earlier, "motherless child" stamped all over him.

Well. Not exactly. FP always asked around when they picked up a kid that young and it turned out that the mom had skipped town to avoid charges. There was an older sister, but she'd turned Joaquin out of the house when she'd picked up a boyfriend she'd rather share it with. 

So Joaquin showed up asking for easy work, quick cash. And he wasn't the first teenager to want admission to the Serpents, but the others had been soft-looking, with little-kid smiles like FP's daughter, or else packing quick retorts like Jug. FP had turned them away. But Joaquin didn't remind him of his own kids. He was just nobody's kid, skinny and good-looking and bad.

"Your dad know you're asking us for work?" FP had asked him.

"Died when I was two," Joaquin reported.

So that was fine. And it explained how, even as Jug had looked at FP less and less, eyes glancing over his father like FP was nothing, Joaquin -- Joaquin snapped to attention when FP talked. 

"Stop looking at me like that," FP would say. And he'd find some way to use the kid, because he knew what the attention meant when it came from somebody like Joaquin. Meant he'd been thrown away enough times that he didn't want it to happen again. So he'd do anything: hold a stash, hotwire a car, act as lookout when they needed one.

In FP's head, Joaquin started to inch up in age. Yes, he was young, but young had as much to do with innocence as years. That was why he couldn't blame Jughead for leaving, or Gladys for taking Jellybean: they were protecting that innocence. Jug -- Jug would rather be homeless than rub up against what FP was doing now, the drugs and the fights and the theft. 

But where Jughead was soft and fine-featured, a dreamer to the core, Joaquin was rough, a pragmatist. He was already trading his innocence to stay off the streets.

That was fine. That was what the Serpents were for.

"Hey Joaquin," FP told him, calling down from the railing. Joaquin was playing pool with some of the others. He snapped to attention as soon as he heard FP's voice.

"I've got a job for you, heartbreaker," FP said. 

-

He'd known Joaquin wouldn't say no. He hadn't expected Joaquin to say, "But I've never..."

"Never what?" FP said impatiently. Never fucked, never seduced anyone, never been with a guy--

"I've never even been on a date," Joaquin said, looking away, embarrassed.

"You're shitting me," said FP.

It didn't compute. Joaquin was a younger FP. All the pieces were there: absent parents, good looks, a need for cash. FP had held on longer at school, sure, but he'd still gotten into plenty of trouble and a lot of that trouble had to do with knowing he could fuck who he wanted, when he wanted. Usually for whatever amount he wanted. 

So he had to take a minute to count to ten, hand stroking his stubble to keep from hauling off and demanding that Joaquin stop fucking around.

"We'll prep you," FP decided instead. The girls weren't shy about liking Joaquin's looks, his blue eyes, his harsh features. So he went to the door and stuck his head out. Surveyed the floor of the bar, looking for Sheila or Judy or Patsy. Any of the young, fun ones, the ones that might be up for it.

He found Sheila, who raised an eyebrow when she caught his eye.

"Up here," he said, over the noise of the bar. "I need you to break somebody in. You'll like it."

A murmur rose up, accompanied by hoots and howls, but Sheila just rolled her eyes and crossed to the stair. When she was in the office with the door behind her, she eyed Joaquin and said, "Fine."

"Great," FP said. "Teach him the ropes. Whatever you think he'll need. Whatever you think the Keller kid will like. I don't wanna see him again until he's useful for this."

But the next day she showed up and threw her long, long legs on his desk. She lit a cigarette. FP batted the smoke away, annoyed.

"Where's Joaquin?" he said. "You break him in?"

"Fuck no," Sheila said, smiling lazily. "I tried. No go."

Again, FP was irritated.

"So he's useless?"

"Oh, no, he's perfect for the job," Sheila said. "He just, you know, needs a _guy_."

-

But most of the guys would start a fight about it, or else had big mouths and couldn't be trusted with the plan, or else they were violent when it came to sex. They'd swagger in, disappear into the back room with somebody, and, after the howls had passed, stagger out all bruised up with a bruised-up partner.

That wasn't what he needed Joaquin to learn. He didn't think the Keller kid -- second place at the science fair, Advanced Placement U.S. History -- would be into that. 

He could hire somebody new, obviously, but the irony of hiring a hooker for their hooker was too much for him.

He could also just do it himself.

FP had never been exclusively into women. _Publicly_ very into women, sure. In front of Gladys and the kids? Into women. But the first time he'd needed quick cash, it had been a man who'd fucked him, and he hadn't minded. And he'd spent a lot of high school jerking off in quiet corners, thinking about what Fred Andrews looked like with motor oil smeared across his cheekbones. Not that that had gotten FP anywhere good.

But still. It wasn't a chore, being with a man. And since Gladys had left, he hadn't been with anybody, because he'd get a woman good and ready, breathing hard, his hands under her top, and then he'd get the creeping sense that somewhere out there Jughead and Jellybean would _know_ somehow. It would be just like Jughead to ignore FP most of the time, only to stroll around the corner just as FP was breaking his marital vows.

But Jughead wouldn't come by the trailer. He'd made that clear. And this wouldn't be about adultery. It would be business.

So he told Joaquin, "My place tonight. We've gotta get you ready for this job."

Joaquin's eyes widened. For a second, he looked really and truly young, and FP thought he would say no.

But he never said no. He showed up that night, as ordered, hunched over, his face in shadow. FP had been drinking before he arrived and was loose-limbed, more relaxed than he'd be otherwise, so he just threw an arm around him and drew him inside.

"Sit down," he ordered. "Want a beer?"

Joaquin shook his head, but took the bottle FP pressed into his hands anyway.

"Are we--are we waiting for anybody?" he asked, once he was settled on the couch and FP was looking down at him.

"Just us," FP said, fixing him with a sharp look. "That a problem? Am I too old? Too ugly?"

Joaquin had skin so gold that FP wouldn't have thought he would show a blush, but the faintest hint of color appeared on his cheeks anyway.

"Not ugly, boss," he said, and took a quick swig of his beer.

"Well, so long as we're in agreement," FP said. 

He polished off his own beer and took his time balancing it on the counter. Bottles on bottles on cans. Sometimes his brain slid sideways and he saw the trailer the way Jughead probably did: like it was a shitpile.

But he couldn't think about that right now. 

"Tell me about your mark," he ordered.

"Keller's kid," Joaquin said. He sat up ramrod straight, like he'd been called on to answer a math problem. FP felt a smile curl around his lips at that. 

"And?"

"Preppy," Joaquin said. "Rule stickler. Probably never got so much as a detention slip--"

FP laughed.

"Alright, now tell me what you think you could _like_ about him."

There was a difference between seducing someone you resented, and going after someone you could be fond of. You had to know the difference if you were going to stay in control. 

But then maybe a practical lesson was in order.

FP stepped forward and tilted the kid's chin up, fingers firm on his smooth jaw. He could feel Joaquin's breath coming fast on his palm. FP leaned forward and breathed on his lips, wanting him to feel that ghosting heat. 

"Now if you can find something you like," FP said against his lips. "You move in like _this_."

He brushed their lips together. Light. Easy. With his free hand he stroked Joaquin's bare throat, giving him the promise of FP's control. But he didn't move in or deepen it. Just pressed light sucks to the kid's bottom lip, feeling his breaths come quick and hot. Feeling Joaquin's pulse speed up. 

Once, just once, his hands came up and grabbed at FP's flannel. But FP didn't let him push him away. He pressed harder on Joaquin's throat and Joaquin made a breathy little moan into his mouth, like he'd pushed a button. FP found himself grinning again. 

He pushed Joaquin back onto the couch, then. Sat next to him, the movement briefly making his thigh brush against the hardness in Joaquin's pants. 

God, to be that fucking young.

"It's a lesson, not fun," FP told him, and Joaquin's cheeks darkened again. He nodded. 

But he didn't say no, and FP didn't see any reason to stop. He leaned forward again to stroke Joaquin's collar.

"You fond of Keller's kid?" FP asked. "Sheriff's kid? Good North Side kid, college-bound, sweater vests and shit?"

Joaquin shook his head once, twice, his breath hitching in his throat.

"Okay," FP said. Joaquin's bottom lip was red and swollen and he touched it with one calloused finger, making the kid's breath catch again. "Here's how you do it, then." 

Now he went ahead and deepened it, made it urgent, hand tighter around Joaquin's neck, tongue down Joaquin's throat. FP was barely-hard -- he was a boozer, and that was an unfortunate side effect -- but Joaquin's pupils were blown like this was pulling him over the edge. 

And now FP could feel the hard scrape of Joaquin's dick through his jeans again. He palmed it roughly once and felt Joaquin gasp into his mouth. Joaquin's hands came up and this time they were in FP's hair, trying to pull him in and get him to do it again. FP laughed against his mouth.

"Now, he does _that_ , you show him who's boss," he muttered, and shoved Joaquin down against the cushions. Weird angle, left him splayed and boneless. FP's to take, so FP took. He gave Joaquin a mean little squeeze through his jeans. Joaquin whined, a needy little mess of teen hormones.

"Please," he said.

"It's a lesson," FP repeated. On a whim, he cut a hand through Joaquin's long dark hair. Joaquin was so close to that he actually shivered at it. 

FP said, "Come on, kid. You _want_ to come in your pants?"

Joaquin squeezed his eyes shut, like he couldn't believe he wanted it either.

"Alright," FP said easily. "Not saying yes, but you're not saying no, either. Keller's kid doesn't say no, you keep going, okay?"

Joaquin nodded, hard, his eyes squeezed shut now. So FP rolled up a sleeve and palmed him through his jeans again. He settled into a good rhythm for it, nice and sloppy and desperate, like he was a kid himself. Pressing Fred Andrews into the fucking couch, sucking his neck, and getting him off like this. Hearing the little gasps and moans. 

It was Joaquin, not Fred, but by now his own dick was perking up a little. Hard not to. Joaquin was pretty enough, and FP liked the neediness in his voice.

"Good sound, heartbreaker," he muttered. "You get him to this point, you've got him on the ropes."

Or close enough. It took a little more of that rough friction, not just his palm now but his hips grinding into Joaquin's, sparking his own dick to life, for Joaquin to come with a cry.

FP lifted himself off of him. Then, thinking of the couch, he pulled a dazed Joaquin up.

"Wet spot in your pants is fine," he told Joaquin. "But not on my upholstery. Place looks bad enough as it is."

Joaquin stared at him, dazed.

"You think you can get it up again?" FP asked, after a few seconds.

" _Again_?"

Shit, a little humping and the kid thought he was spent. FP had forgotten how low standards could be at Joaquin's age. 

"You're young," FP said. "You'll bounce back. So will he, so you'd better know what to do with that. Stay here while I get us a -- a blanket or something."

Or some new jeans. Jug had left a few pairs behind. FP pushed down the bile he felt for some reason and went to get them. Plus the blanket. His dick was waking up, so. No reason to stop now.


End file.
